Preston eased the van to a stop. “Mitchell,” he said with
mock seriousness, “are you wearing a seat belt?”
Mitchell, slumped in the dreaded back seat, shook his head.
“Nope.” He’d lost the battle for the captain seats fought valiantly every
Sunday morning and was clearly not pleased.
“Buckle your seat belt,” Preston insisted, clearly enjoying
his semi-legitimate authority.
“Mitchell,” Simon piped in from a captain seat, his tone
serious in a way that is only used in over dramatized commercials, “are you
feeling rebellious? Are you going through that stage in your life?” He paused
dramatically. “Don’t do it, man. Buckle your seat belt.”
How he managed to sound so serious when saying this is
beyond me. Preston and I burst into laughter and Mitchell, trying desperately
to refuse Simon the satisfaction of knowing he’d been funny, hid an amused
smile as he clicked his seat belt into place.
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